In his great Victorian bedroom, wrapped in his silk sheets, Eli Mandrake lay dying. At the foot of his bed, his daughter, Lucretia, stared at her father in both horror and fascination. The shriveled old husk clenched his teeth and spoke words in some strange, forgotten language (the secret language of Phoenician gravediggers, of Egyptian mummy-makers, and Mycenaean priests, taught to them by Orpheus, as whispered in his ear by Eurydice), sweat trickling down his brow as he felt old enemies and betrayed friends looking up at him from the dismal afterlife he had condemned them to.
Sometimes, his head would jerk as he was wracked by pain, and Lucretia would let out a tiny, almost silent, sigh of relief. Perhaps, Eli thought, she is praying for this old sorcerer, this bane of her life, this cancerous little growth on the face of the world, to be finally, utterly, and irrevocably dead. But then he would open his eyes again and stare at her and smile, baring his teeth, and say:
"Still here. Don't mess this up."
And she would bow her head and check the hidden stashes of incense and the lines engraved on the wooden boards under and beside the bed, as Eli had commanded her. She would look into Eli's gold-lettered grimoire and carefully recite to herself the words that she was to speak the minute they arrived. Eli could tell what she was silently wishing: for her father to die, please, please, die already!
And then the light in the room dimmed, the lightbulbs flickered for a second, and Eli felt suddenly cold, so utterly, terribly cold, and relieved at the same time. To her the visitors would appear as little more than tiny little indentations left on the tick rug on each side of the bed, near her father's head.
On Eli's left-hand side, stood the demon Andrealphus--to whom his soul had been sold so long ago--his chosen form upon arrival that of a huge, bloated red fiend, its mouth frozen in a constant grin, with teeth intended for shredding, not chewing, jutting out against taut, bloated lips.
On his right-hand side stood the angel Hael--who was known to Eli as one of Heaven's own historians--his form that of a beautiful creature, its features distinctly androgynous, elegant, but in a cold, inhuman sort of way. His eyes were great black orbs, studded with silver. His wings were folded on his back.
"Time to go, old man...time for you to leave that dried husk of a body and slide down into the depths with me and pick up your little pickax and grind and toil in Abaddon, whipped forever by the foremen, your only respite a cup of salted water each day," said the demon.
The angel flinched at the sound of his voice, a sweet-sounding voice like that of a little boy's that rose from that monstrosity.
"And that little bumboy from Heaven over there?" the demon commented, pointing his long, clawed finger at the angel. "He can't do a damn thing to help. You're bound to me by contract."
"I am here to record his death. To verify the passing of this life, as foretold by the Lord. I have no quarrel with you, fallen," replied Hael.
The old man wheezed and stared, then looked at the foot of the bed and shrieked:
"They're here! Speak the words! Do it now! Now!"
Andrealphus noticed her first, as she rose from the bed, knew the function of her talisman and the contents of the leather-bound grimoire in her hands the instant he saw them. Hael was slower by only a fraction of a second. The demon hissed, and the angel beat his wings, each seeking to retreat in their respective domains. By then, it was too late. She spread her arms and waved her hands and cut her palms, letting the blood flow down the lines engraved on the floor. She spoke the words:
"Kia-soon garah no'moth! Hastur vur'lui fhtagn!"
Eli drank in Andrealphus's horrified look, as the demon recognized the meaning of the words and tried to jump, to slide out of the world and back into the pits, but by that time the effect was in place and held his feet planted on the carpet, locked his wings, and dragged him on the floor.
And yet, to Eli, the angel's entrapment was far more precious a sight: Hael stood frozen as he realized the trap. He tried to reach out to the woman, to plead with her, but it was already too late. His form, suddenly forced into the realm of the living, had become heavy; his thin arms and legs were unable to support him, his wings a weight that pinned him down.
And Eli laughed then. He cackled like a maniac, his eyes almost popping out of his eye sockets, before digging his nails into his chest so hard it almost bled. His final vision, as he finally perished, was of Lucretia's face, the horror slowly shedding from her features, to be replaced by pure relief.
***
"So long, Father. You were a worthless little growth, and I won't miss you," spoke Lucretia as she saw her father's head fall in some strange angle to his left. On the sides of his bed, the creatures were slowly becoming visible, their bodies held down as if by some unseen chain. She enjoyed the terror that dawned in their eyes as they realized that they were now visible to the woman who had just bound them.
"Do not bother struggling, my pets. You both know where you are and what just took place. My father's soul has left his body, and you failed to retrieve it. He is free to roam the Earth and haunt some cupboard, while you are stuck here." She smiled her devilish grin--so much like her father's--and stretched like a cat after a kill.
"Under my command. And you shall remain so, when I know your true names," she said and made a sign with her hand just so, thus causing both creatures to be slammed against the floor by an unseen force. "Speak your names!"
"You deprived me of my contracted bounty!" screamed Andrealphus, his roar making the fine china rattle. "I am Andrealphus, Grand Marquis of Hell, minister of the mysteries of flesh!" he let out through gritted teeth, as the spell took hold of him.
"You cheated Heaven and Hell!" exclaimed Hael. "I am Hael, chief historian of mortal lives," he muttered, defeated.
"And I also got myself a pair of slaves. I'd call this a win-win situation. Now you will have to excuse me. I need to get rid of my father's remains."
